I am a person
(I am?)
Of fleeting absolutes
And I am aware
(Are you?)
Of my faults.

I am aware
(Yes?)
Every hour of
Every day and I carry
(What?)
That burden always.

I am sure
(Positive?)
I chose right
(Did you now?
Did you really?)
SHUT UP.
Please?

I am aware of my faults
And I carry them constantly,
Forever reminded
By you.

You like the difference between the way
We spread our cheese on our toast, commented
On how methodic I was, got the impression
I am a methodic person.

You walked around my room noticing, all the things
I had put out there for you to notice, I
Am not tidy mostly, And I
Am not methodic
Unless I know you are noticing.

It is all a show, I am all
A show, a well made
Subtle BBC drama with
Period clothing and
Magnificent sets, cause
That is what I am best at - the outside
The scene that sets the mood that makes you
Get into the certain state of mind required for you
To buy my act and then
Wait for more.

His* hands
Knobbly and callused
Either very warm
Or very cold
He was always prone
To extremities.

His hands
Big and enveloping
Either on his keyboard
Or his guitar
But always there
When I need them.

They are my float
And my anchor
Respectively.

I like the rain
I truly do (!)
But it makes me
Remember (...)

Running,
Breathless,
Struggling to keep pace
The rain above us
Merely a light drizzle,
Infinitely not enough.

Walking,
Side by side,
To retrieve a lost boy,
The rain above us,
Drizzling painfully,
In just the wrong moment.

And the nausea
Rises,
And the ache in my chest
Expands.

I want the rain
To rain
Upon me
With Them
By my side.

It's so ironic
That now we cannot touch
I fear you most

I can feel you slipping
Between my fingers
Sand
Water
Running down
I want you here
Solid
Warm
Familiar, following me
To rooftops and beaches
Keeping me from harm.

I try to envision
The way it felt
Safe
Welcome
I cannot recreate it.

Only your rage
Sharp
Words
And mistrust
You could hurt me
As long as
You are not here
To convince me otherwise.

When you next come
I will not tell you
To go away

But what once was
Will never be the same
This is what they call
Change and I know
It is only my
Stupid
Worries
But I cannot help myself
When you are away.

On the train ride home
I remember the last few hours
That I spent at the place where my friend lives.

On the bus towards my house
I ache for the feeling of them I just had
At the house of my friends.

Walking towards the place where I live with my family
I feel as if I am getting further away
From home.

He played the same chords
Repeatedly, and talked.
He didn't really need me there,
He was talking to himself more than
To anyone else, but
I think my listening ears helped,
Somewhat, at least.

As he talked, and rationalized
His fingers kept on playing,
Sometimes getting so loud,
I couldn't hear what he said,
And maybe he couldn't hear
What he said either and maybe
That was the point of it.

And as he played, the chords
Became a mantra, repetitive and calming,
It's this strangely, metaphorically resonant
Thing - as long as the music goes on,
So does life.

You have one song, which is more
Than just another song to you, which
Makes you whole inside and this song
Might not always be the same one but
At every point you have this song that
You feel fulfills you, and you will listen
To it again and again and again, but I
Am not satisfied by merely listening, I
Will have to master it, to understand it
Fully, every word and every note, to be
Able to channel this song, through my
Fingers and onto the strings, perfectly
Until the strings all vibrate endlessly
Go blurry before my vision and I play
No longer by sight but by repetition
My fingers flying off their own accord,
'till I play not with my brain but with my
Heart and my soul and some desperate
Animal instinct to hold on to something.

I dive headfirst                              
Into a wonderland
                     Of my own making
Into the wishful thinking
                                                                  That is its creator
                                    Cutting and sticking
Pieces of my life
                                     Until they envelope me
                                                                      In their being
In my being
                          And I am surrounded
Unable to escape
                                                            Myself, the place from which
All try to constantly
                                                                        Escape, I am trapped
                        In the whole I dug,
And fell through, into
                                                                              Wonderland, I
   Am my own wonderland
                                       And I have made a choice
                                                                 To enter and come out
Sane.

I let my mind get
Carried away
And suddenly
There are three cups of water
Standing on the table
But only me
To be accounted for.